


To Swear at Troy

by Oshun



Category: Alexander Trilogy - Mary Renault
Genre: Achilles - Freeform, Classics, M/M, Patroclus - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 19:02:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oshun/pseuds/Oshun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander and Hephaistion make vows to one another at the tomb of Achilles and Patroclus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Swear at Troy

  
  


Thanks to IgnobleBard as Beta, and to Moreth, Pandemonium, Jael and Elfscribe for copy review and wordsmithing. (Special thanks to Moreth as my personal Classics expert.)  
  
* * * *

> Vows with so much passion, swears with so much grace, that 'tis a kind of heaven to be deluded by him. _Alexander the Great_ , Act. i, Sc. 3, Nathaniel Lee

Hephaistion watched Alexander remove his red-plumed helmet and look around, seeking to spot him. Valiant Boukephalas danced in place, awaiting further directions from his master. Alexander's hair glinted pure gold in the sunlight and his eyes brightened with enthusiasm when he met Hephaistion's gaze. He shot Hephaistion that smile of his which could soften the stoniest heart.

'How I adore him,' thought Hephaestion. 'His charms are wasted on me. Yet he never fails to endeavor to woo me. As though I would not follow him anywhere, do anything to hold onto his love.' He returned Alexander's smile and was rewarded with a wider one.

With the arrival of spring, Alexander had set out toward the East and his dream. He had told Hephaestion some weeks earlier that his first act would be to visit Troy. Leaving behind them a relative peace between the Greeks and the Macedonians, Hephaistion understood that Alexander would not look back until he had taken all of Persia. He had not realized then that Persia would not be enough.

In the years that would follow, particularly when they were parted by distance, by Alexander's duty, his wives, or his fascination with his Persian boy, Hephaistion often recalled Troy. He never doubted Alexander's affection or ultimately his unique place in his heart, but he did miss those halcyon days when they each looked only to the other.

Alexander's force of some five thousand cavalry and thirty thousand foot soldiers had begun crossing the Hellespont and moving onto the landmass of Asia. The ferrying of the troops progressed smoothly, if slowly. But Alexander, chomping at the bit to be off, left Parmenion in charge and set out with an advance force upon a detour that was close to his heart. He had spoken many times to Hephaestion in their youth about how he intended some day to pay homage to his personal hero and ancestor Achilles. Together they would race naked, in an ancient rite of homage, around the tomb of Achilles and Patroclus and lay garlands in their honor.

As they had grown older, Hephaestion enjoyed teasing him. He would smirk at Alexander's earnestness and add that after their run and they had presented their offerings, overcome by the loftiest of sentiment, they would make wild love and swear before the gods that their devotion would rival that of Achilles and Patroclus. Alexander would then easily regain the upper hand by murmuring, with a half-smile and hooded eyes, "Perhaps. Yes. Perhaps, we shall."

At twenty-two, the two young men were healthy, gifted by the gods, tested in battle, sure of themselves, and the entire world lay before them. Hephaestion particularly relished the company of Alexander in such high spirits. With the passing of Philip, Alexander had truly come into his own. No one could question his authority, bought not simply by birthright or privilege, but by the proof of his remarkable military capacity and leadership élan. And the shadow of suppressed anger that fell over Alexander when faced with Olympia's attempts to manipulate or control him faded with the passage of every day.

The heat of summer was not yet upon them, but the spring rains had subsided, making their passage across the plains of Troy easier. The dust raised by Alexander's select force clouded the air, but did not hide the remnants of pillars and broken, toppled stones visible upon an unimpressive, grassy hill, which rose out of the landscape before them. Newer intact buildings, ancient in themselves, stretched out behind the scattered ruins. Hephaistion assumed this must be the temple of Athena that had been erected on the site of the remains of Priam's ill-fated city.

"There it is! Troy!" Hephaistion shouted to Alexander, loud enough to be heard over the horses and the rumble of wagon wheels. "I hope the condition of these ruins does not shatter the vision which you have cherished."

"Ah, Hephaistion. That is not possible. Time cannot alter the fact that heroic hearts loyal and true beat for one another here, that Achilles and his Patroclus trod these grounds as we do now." The words called out in the presence of their troops were tantamount to a public declaration of love.

Alexander pulled Boukephalas out of the line of march and signaled with a barely perceptible tilt of his head that he wished to speak more intimately with Hephaistion. As he drew closer to Alexander, Hephaistion's horse nickered in greeting. When Hephaistion slowed almost to a stop, the well-trained charger only shook his head with restrained impatience.

Alexander grinned and reached over to stroke the bare skin of Hephaistion's upper arm, causing him to shiver. Alexander noticed his response and his eyes warmed with tenderness. He parted his lips slightly, but did not speak. His mouth could turn disarmingly sensual when Hephaistion least expected it. Alexander's expression was one of flirtatiousness, uncommon enough, especially in company, but familiar and welcome to Hephaistion. Yet, no word or gesture of Alexander's in such a setting was committed without forethought.

This trip itself was more than the indulgence of Alexander's lifelong attachment to Homer's Iliad that some might assume it was. Hephaistion knew that Alexander intended it to be a pronouncement to the world that he considered himself to be a descendant of the great Achilles. He chose, at the beginning of this campaign, to set himself apart from and a step above those he sought to conquer. And, Hephaistion realized suddenly, the visit to Troy was also apparently planned as a semi-formal acknowledgement of his own importance to him.

"Shall we first honor their memory?" Alexander said. "And then renew our vows to one another?"

Hephaistion struggled to master his emotion at Alexander's words. His jokes, couched in terms of an indulgent taunt of Alexander's sentimentality, had been partially self-deprecating, a warning to himself not to expect too much. Alexander in his big-heartedness had read the hidden text. Hephaistion, a fool for love, who would have sold his soul a thousand times over for such a promise, still sought to temper his response with humor.

He leaned over to whisper close to Alexander's ear, "Of course, I want that. You know how much. But tell me, my dear, who do you envision as Achilles and who might be Patroclus?"

Alexander threw his head back in a full-out laugh. "Well, you know politics and diplomacy. Before the world, I wear the mantle of position and am far more ambitious. So, I must be Achilles and you, being the more beautiful and unflinching in your loyalty to me, shall be my Patroclus. But, in our tent, under the light of a single lamp, we ever will be only Alexander and Hephaestion, two hearts but one love."

"I will accept those terms," Hephaestion said with a smile, although his voice had grown husky and his eyes stung. In his heart he did not question Alexander's utter sincerity, but knew who in truth could be said to be the most beloved. His love would ever come first for him, but destiny would always rule Alexander. That price had seemed a small enough one to pay for the love of Alexander in those early years.

As they drew closer to the ruins, Hephaistion could see that most of the fields surrounding the mound had been planted. Although it was late in the season, the first green shoots pushed through the soil. It was not fertile ground, but a meager living could be eked out here. Those who came to sacrifice to Athena and visit the ruins were doubtless an essential source of revenue for the village and the surrounding area. The arrival of Alexander with his troops would present a windfall of temporary prosperity.

After the initial din and chaos of setting up camp had subsided, Alexander had insisted on stripping, cleaning off the worst of the dust of the road and the smell of horse, and donning a fresh chiton. Hephaistion joined him in his hasty ablutions. He suspected Alexander would insist upon a full bath later before sacrificing to the goddess and giving their homage to Achilles. Children, along with the village dogs, flitted in and out among the newly erected tents, observing the strangers with wide-eyed curiosity. The bolder ones dared to question the soldiers.

One bright bird of an auburn-haired girl, no more than six years of age, approached Hephaistion. She pointed at Alexander, as a page finished fastening a red cloak about his shoulders with a handsome gold pin. Clean-shaven, with his short curls, and a signet ring catching the sunlight, he stood out from the crowd around him not only by his dress and grooming, but his natural regality. She asked in a disbelieving voice, "Is he your captain?"

Hephaistion laughed. "Oh, he is more than that. He is the king of all our people."

"Oh, my," she piped, darting off giggling. She squealed to group of slightly older boys who stood nearby. "The beautiful golden-haired boy over there is their king."

Alexander approached Hephaistion, grinning.

Hephaistion raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Did you hear that?"

"I still prefer not to wear a beard. I like touching you without one also." He reached his hand up to caress Hephaistion's cheek.

In contrast to his tanned face, Alexander's eyes appeared nearly turquoise. It was difficult for Hephaistion to control his responses to him, confronted with his perception of Alexander's own heightened sensibilities and barely restrained excitement. Alexander in the throes of one of his frequent enthusiasms drew him like shavings of iron to a magnet.

"It's nearly mid-day," said Alexander. "Shall we go seek out the priests and arrange to perform our libations to the goddess?"

An unctuous priest clad in impeccable, if slightly threadbare, robes and accompanied by two acolytes came down the steps leading out of the temple to greet Alexander. The manner of the priest covered an ill-concealed greed with a charade of obsequious respect. Alexander addressed him in a deferential voice tempered by an authority compelling in its understatement. Only the slight stiffening of Alexander's shoulders and cool eyes revealed to Hephaistion the measure he had taken of Athena's priest. He insisted upon knowing all the details of the sacrificial protocol. Alexander would be loath to suffer any diminishment of his dignity by being observed in a misstep on such a solemn occasion. Hephaistion also knew that Alexander had surprised him in the past by admitting to remnants of superstition, no doubt the lingering effects of a childhood spent listening to Olympia's talk of conjuring and casting spells.

After a brief discussion, the priests agreed to make ready for Alexander's sacrifice and their homages to the heroes of Troy. Agreeing to meet again in an hour, Alexander and Hephaistion took their leave of the temple.

Returning to Alexander's tent they were pleased to find a bath had been prepared. Alexander dismissed the pages and he and Hephaistion assisted one another.

Scraping Alexander's back, Hephaistion said, "Are you ready now to return to the shrine, sacrifice to the goddess, and pay our homage to the heroes?"

"I have been ready, eager even, to do this for several years. When our names are remembered in glory after we are gone, I pray this day will be among the events recounted."

Hephaistion leaned forward and kissed him on the temple.

"Do not humor me," Alexander said with a chuckle.

The troops assembled before the temple to watch an opening procession led by the young Macedonians who served as pages of the king. An honor guard of Alexander's band of Companions came after them, followed by Hephaistion and Alexander.

Entering the temple, one by one the Companions approached the altar and each poured out a libation of olive oil and the best red wine they had carried with them to honor the goddess. Hephaistion came next and silently begged Athena to make him always worthy of Alexander.

When Alexander sacrificed to Athena, laying down his best set of armor in her honor, he voiced his requests of the goddess in his finest public voice, ringing clarion clear throughout the confines of the antique stone structure and likely heard by the troops gathered outside. He did not ask for great victories or the ignominious subjugation of his enemies. As Hephaistion might have expected, Alexander preferred to make his own luck and trust his own judgment rather than placing himself in the hands of the gods. He made a simple request for wisdom combined with prowess in battle.

Later they assembled outside the temple. All of the Companions had asked permission to participate. Alexander, who could never refuse anything to those he loved, granted their request. The preparations for their race to give homage to Achilles and Patroclus were minimal. They need only strip. Alexander and Hephaistion received the wreaths of vines and flowers, threaded around circular straw bases, to place upon the tomb of Achilles and Patroclus.

The late-afternoon sun illuminated Alexander. There were others in their company who were taller and more perfectly formed, or more beautiful; some had even named Hephaistion himself as one of those. But to him there could be no sight more heart wrenching than Alexander naked, thrown into heroic relief by the light and shadows cast by the waning sun. His tousled curls framed a face made transcendentally attractive, not by any compilation of its features, but by Alexander's animation and passion.

Alexander grabbed his hand, hard. "Run beside me, love. The others will hold back and leave us in the front." His voice was ragged, hushed by emotion.

"Always you. Only you." Hephaistion was not even sure precisely what he meant by his own words except that he loved him to distraction. His need, however, was transparent in his tone. He did not trust himself to look up, for what Alexander might see in his eyes. Or down for that matter, the timbre of Alexander's voice had only ever indicated one thing. For a moment, he felt he did not know this Alexander, who could show such heat in public.

"Yes. And for me, only you. Look at me." Alexander touched his chin, turning Hephaistion's face so he had to meet his eyes. "You are the one who has always told me that there is nothing disgraceful, nothing of dishonor, in this need we share. Would Achilles or Patroclus ever been ashamed for others to see their love. Sweet Hephaistion, you will always be first in my heart."

The Companions had formed up behind them, waiting for a signal. Alexander looked in their direction and smiled. Then he kissed Hephaistion on the mouth, while adjusting his wreath. An approving cheer went up from the Companions and the rest of the assembled warriors.

"They adore you," Hephaistion said.

"And they want to see me happy. You make me happy. But this is for you. I need to make you happy."

"You do. You always have."

"I know that I can, but I should do better."

"Alexander," Hephaistion whispered, almost breathless; he was grinning so hard his jaw hurt. "Are you ready?"

"Yes." Alexander raised his chin, cocking his head to one side, all bronzed skin, gilded curls, full red lips, melting, limpid eyes. Hephaistion felt he could devour him.

"This is not the Olympics nor even a true race," Alexander said, "but we should show homage by our effort."

Hephaistion rolled his eyes, confident that Alexander sensed the warmth behind his chiding look.

"I know. I talk too much. Explain things that you understand," Alexander said, grinning at him. "Let us start then." He raised his hand to signal to the Companions. Hephaistion could see nothing but Alexander.

They took off together, falling into to an easy rhythm. Of long habit, Hephaistion, knowing his legs were slighter longer, let Alexander set the pace. The road they were to follow circled the top of the hill and would bring them back to the Temple. They would come to the tomb of Achilles and Patroclus before they reached the front entrance of the Temple again.

Only the crispness of the lengthening shadows showed how late in the afternoon it was. Hephaistion could see the olive groves along the banks of the river that flowed down toward the sea. He wondered about the age of the olive trees. Had they seen the siege of Ilium and its fall? They ran just long enough and hard enough before they reached the site of the tomb to have begun to float into euphoria. Their trancelike state was further enhanced for Hephaistion by the synchronicity of their stride.

When Alexander and Hephaistion at last reached the site of the tomb, the troops, which had been relaxing there while waiting, fell quickly into ranks. The Companions took their places in front of them.

Breathing hard, Alexander grasped Hephaistion's hand again. He raised it to his lips and kissed him on the knuckles. "You go first," he said.

Hephaistion had not thought of what he would say. He was certain that Alexander had. He took his wreath and, bending down upon one knee, placed it on the sarcophagus. He thought for only a second, before he realized that his words need be nothing eloquent or profound. Alexander could provide that. Heartfelt would be good enough for Hephaistion.

"Glorious godlike Achilles, brave and loyal Patroclus, you have inspired us and we seek to honor you." He rose to his feet and took Alexander's hand. "My king, my general, my friend, I swear to you that I ever will be loyal to you, support you in every way, and do nothing to dishonor you. My only desire is to enable you to reach a glory that will rival that of Achilles. May future generations think of us when they recall their bond."

Alexander looked momentarily taken aback, although his eyes twinkled with mirth. "How do I follow that?" he whispered.

When Alexander began to speak, Hephaistion noted he did not lack confidence, his tone sure and gaze intense.

"Achilles, son of Peleus, most powerful of warriors, mightiest of all the Achaeans, we pay homage to you for your choice of a short life of glory over a longer one of lesser valour. Like you, we chose with full consciousness to be always the best, to strive for excellence. Unlike you, we live at a greater distance from the gods. To reach our goals we must excel above all others through our own effort. Perhaps the gods, by their absence, urge us to take upon ourselves elements of divinity. We can and will meet that challenge." He lifted his eyes and faced his men. "Follow me and I promise you victory. Although we do not have the likes of Homer to record our deeds, history will remember us."

Hephaistion noticed the rapt concentration of the ranks, their usual enchantment with Alexander, but also a hint of puzzlement on the faces of some. Pulling his own features into a mask of attention, Hephaistion wondered if perhaps it would have been wiser of Alexander to save his more speculative remarks for their late-night talks entwined in one another's arms. But, if Alexander noticed anything amiss, he gave no indication of it.

The sun had finally begun to sink. The rose and gold of the western sky seemed mirrored in Alexander's flushed cheeks and bright hair. His concentration and youthful beauty made him look nearly godlike in that moment. Alexander raised his voice again, jerking his head to the side, tossing back the stray ringlets that had crept onto his brow. A gesture so characteristic of him that Hephaistion had to repress a smile of recognition.

"We revere Patroclus, as you did, and see in him your greatest virtue. When one loves a man of honor, one takes that honor upon oneself. Patroclus was such a friend. It was the heroism and sacrifice of Patroclus which led you back into battle. When you avenged his death, out of your love for him and his honor, you insured your own immortality."

It seemed nearly anti-climatic when Alexander finally placed his wreath upon the tomb. But then he turned to Hephaistion, looking into his eyes.

"You are my Patroclus," he said. "The other half of me, the one who keeps me true."

The warriors who had listened, perhaps confused by some of Alexander's philosophical musings, burst out in an appreciative roar. They understood two things without difficulty: loyalty and _eros_. Alexander let go of Hephaistion slowly, as he saw Ptolemy approach them.

"I understand there will be fine feast tonight. If you like . . ." Ptolemy began.

Throwing his arm around Ptolemy's shoulders, Alexander interrupted. "Ptolemy, do you remember when we all went to see _The Myrmidons_ with Aristotle?"

Ptolemy broke out laughing. "And who of us could ever forget that evening? You were beside yourself and I have never seen Aristotle more livid. What I came to tell you is that I will give your regrets to the men at the feast, say that you instruct them to begin without you. When you join us later, we will be most happy to see you." He quickly embraced Alexander and grasped Hephaistion's arm with unexpected warmth. "Have a good evening, both of you."

As he watched Ptolemy walk away, the fire in Hephaistion's cheeks told him that his were ruddier even than Alexander's. "Shall we go to your tent then?"

"With great pleasure," Alexander said. "Do you know you are blushing?"

"It is beneath you to tease me about that."

Although Hephaistion's complaint was not completely serious, Alexander's response had an edge to it. "You love to mock me for my long-windedness, my over seriousness, my preoccupations, but I am not permitted to make light of how much time you spend thinking of how to lure me into bed."

"That is cruel. So unlike you," Hephaistion huffed, wounded.

Alexander had taken his hand, leading him down the hillside toward the tents. "It could be, if I were not determined to give you everything you have wanted and more still you have not dreamed of having."

Considerably lightened in spirit, Hephaistion asked, "Why can you not be like this all of the time?"

"Duty. Responsibility." Alexander chuckled. "Ambition? Thirst for glory? Never mind though. Not today. Race you to the tent?"

As usual when he pulled this stunt, Alexander took off before Hephaistion scarcely had understood him. He reached the tent first and ducked inside. When Hephaistion, panting heavily, staggered through the flap, Alexander grabbed him and wrestled him onto the cot, all lips, tongue, and clever hands.

"I love you," Alexander gasped. "Tell me what you want."

"I know what you like and that suits me very well." Hephaistion envisioned Alexander as he had seen him many times: on his back, opening his arms to him, closed eyes fluttering open to reveal a look of rapture.

"Ah, but I have told you a dozen times that this day is yours," Alexander scolded.

"Then I want what you want."

"Fine. If you are going to be difficult, then I will do exactly what I want." Alexander bent over him and, sliding his foreskin back, took the head of his shaft into his mouth, teasing him with the tip of his tongue before drawing in the rest.

The feeling was indescribable. Looking down at Alexander's beautiful mouth around him was almost more than Hephaistion could bear. He gave a most undignified grunt, before managing to speak. "Alexander! Please. It is not fitting that you should do that to me."

Alexander pulled away. "Fitting? We set the rules here, do we not? I thought we agreed upon that long ago." He licked tauntingly from the root to the tip of Hephaistion's member as he grinned up at him. "And you forget. You may be a Greek, but I am Macedonian and we have no scruples over this act."

Shocked, Hephaistion blurted out, "Have you done it before?"

"No. Of course, not." Alexander resumed stroking him with his hand, while Hephaistion writhed under him. "But I heard it spoken of in the barracks long before you, with your careful upbringing, ever thought of any such acts. Do you want more or not?" Hephaistion could only groan and arch up into his hand.

Alexander showed inventiveness, fervor, and a determination to prove that in this, as in all things, he could excel. When Hephaistion had spent, Alexander said, in a lazy, self-satisfied voice, "Admit that I was right."

Hephaistion decided that he would not allow himself to be so easily bested, especially after hearing Alexander's smug tone. "I'll let you judge for yourself."

He made love to Alexander in the same way, only playing it out longer, until he pled, moaned, and, tangling his fingers in Hephaistion's hair, began to push downward on his head encouragingly.

After lying curled together for some time in languorous repose, it was Alexander who began to kiss Hephaistion again, at first slowly and then with more intent, nipping and tugging at his lower lip. Hephaistion felt Alexander hardening against his thigh again, when he suddenly stopped kissing him.

"Do not ever leave me," he said, his voice fierce and insistent.

"Alexander, do not be a fool. Do you truly think that is a possibility? How can you even imagine I would ever do that?"

"Death in battle is most likely," he said, clipped and gruff.

"No. That would be you, charging like a mad man to the front of the ranks, with your clearly identifiable armour and the plumes on your helmet making you a target. Although, you must know I will die to prevent anyone from reaching you."

Alexander's smile was exquisite, although as bittersweet as his voice was gentle. "Please do not speak of that. I want to fall first. I could not live without you."

Author's Notes: (Read only if such things entertain you. The bottom line is that this is fiction.)

1\. The introductory verse is quite coincidentally from a play related to Alexander; I chose it because I liked the pretty language and how it might describe the way Hephaistion viewed Alexander's vows and promises to him, and not at all related to its context in the original. The basic facts are based upon Plutarch's brief account in his _Life of Alexander_ and references by Mary Renault in _The Nature of Alexander_. Characterization is inspired by Mary Renault's from _Fire from Heaven_ but has elements that contradict her.

2\. I have deferred to Mary Renault's spelling: Hephaistion over Hephaestion and Boukephalas for Bucephalus.

3\. In the 5th century BC, Aeschylus, in his play _The Myrmidons_ , portrayed the relationship of Achilles and Patroclus as a sexual/romantic one. Achilles refers to a "devout union of the thighs" in a surviving fragment of the play. Aeschylus presented Achilles in the role of _erastes_ and Patroclus as _eromenos_ , making it clear that Achilles is the leader and his need to avenge his lover's death at the cost his life was a manifestation of the responsibility of that position.

Other scholars have argued that because Homer never uses the terms _erastes_ and _eromenos_ , the relationship between Achilles and Patroclus, if it were intended to be one of physical/romantic love, would have been egalitarian. Unlike Achilles and Patroclus, Alexander and Hephaistion were the same age and their attachment dated to a shared youth.

Mary Renault, in a scene in _Fire From Heaven_ , uses the occasion of Alexander and Hephaistion viewing a performance of _The Myrmidons_ as a moment of strong emotion on the part of the youthful Alexander. In that sequence, Aristotle is displeased by his students' manifestation of blatant identification with the heroic couple: Alexander's excess of emotion and Hephaistion's attempt to console him.


End file.
